


Chill Dawn: The 24th Hunger Games

by MoonlightSalsa



Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Disability, Friendship, Gen, Violence, basically just your average hunger games fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2020-07-09 22:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightSalsa/pseuds/MoonlightSalsa
Summary: Sometimes, the people who win are the people you least expect. No one knows this better than those who viewed the twenty-fourth Hunger Games.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hunger Games fic. 
> 
> I apologise if this idea's been done before.

Jemima couldn't believe what she just read. 

The boy standing in front of her had turned around to face her. He looked pale and drawn. His lips said “Jemima, it's you. They called your name.” 

Jemima suddenly became aware of everyone staring at her with the kind of sympathy that only newly selected tributes could produce…

Oh no. Not her. Anyone but her. 

Someone - a girl she went to school with - took her gently by the arm and began to lead her towards the stage until she could walk on her own, every shaky step viewed by the entire nation. She climbed the steps, towards the escort, Mayze Mahon’s, beaming smile framed by cat whiskers. She couldn't stand to look at her. She disliked her, even though it wasn't really Mayze’s fault the Hunger Games exist. 

Jemima stood stiffly by her side, gazing down at the eighteen-year-olds who were situated at the base of the stage. She fixated her gaze on a girl with blonde, wavy hair, wearing a bright orange coat, to the point that she didn't register that there was another tribute picked until she was being led away again, this time by Peacekeepers, into the Justice Building. Then she caught a glance of him before he disappeared down the hall. It was Jouse Halt, the son of one of the schoolteachers. He gave Jemima a look in return before they were yanked into different rooms. 

Jemima pressed a hand to her chest to quell her racing heart. She was dead. There was no way out of this. She was a dead girl. She collapsed on the velvet-covered couch and breathed in its slightly musty scent. When she lifted her head to see the door opening, her cheeks were wet with silent tears. 

The Peacekeeper ushered in her mother, father and brother. Immediately her parents swept her up in a massive hug. As she was rocked back and forth Jemima could imagine soothing, tearful words being said, mourning her. The fabric of her father’s shirt was damp, not entirely from sweat. 

Her mother pulled away and tightly cupped Jemima’s cheeks with both hands, positioned so that Jemima could see everything that was being said. 

“Please, my daughter, be safe…” she quickly trailed off as she realised there was really nothing else to say to her. Her daughter was as good as dead. And Jemima wasn't stupid enough to think otherwise. No doubt, if this district were to win, it would be the Halt boy who would come home. 

Jemima wasn't mad about that. She was just upset that she was the one being sent to her death like cattle. She felt like the Capitol was just weeding out the weak from the district population, throwing them into an arena where they stood very little chance of survival, and pretending like it was fair. Especially since tributes like the Careers exist, representing the over-glorified slaughterhouse hands in this hypothetical farm, it drove the point in further that she shouldn't have been chosen. 

The thought of actually coming face to face with the brutality of the Careers that she always previously observed from the safety of the screens made her heart sink so low it felt like it would bleed through the bottom of her feet. 

Then, her father was saying “I love you, Jemima” while her mother planted a long, slow kiss on her forehead and her brother hugged her from behind. As soon as they had come, they were gone again and in her place was the girl who helped her to the stage. 

The girl didn't say anything as far as Jemima could tell; she just sat there next to her, rubbing her shoulder with one comforting hand until she too was gone. 

No one else came, just Peacekeepers, here to escort her to the train that would take her to the Capitol, the worst-best place in the entire nation. 

When she reached the station she stiffened inwardly at the sight of so many people bustling to get a glimpse of her. She'd never been subject to this kind of attention before. She averted her eyes and thumbed one of her tiny plaits as she was led onto the train. There, she kept her head down and studied the shiny grey floor for who-knows-how-long later, when Jouse stepped aboard with puffy eyes and red cheeks. He caught her gaze and turned away. 

Mayze stepped on then, all jolly and smiling. The doors shut behind her and the train began to move, the people outside transforming into a dull blur. 

Mayze clapped her hands. “Alright! Who's hungry?” she exclaimed. 

Jouse looked at Jemima and shrugged. Jemima stared back, confused, having missed Mayze’s words. Jouse mouthed “eat” and Jemima returned his shrug. 

“Not a talkative bunch, are you?” Mayze cocked her head to one side. “Nervous? Aw, I'm sure you'll feel better after you eat something!” She placed one hand on each of their backs and gently pushed them into a stately dining room, the dark wood tables lined with perfectly polished silverware and domes concealing almost foreign delicacies. The surrounding chairs were like thrones. Poor men's thrones, but thrones nonetheless, with shiny wood and a cushion on the seat instead of gold and regal red velvet. 

Mayze pushed them down into a couple of chairs and lifted off the domes. Instantly, the steam rose and the scents filled the room. The trays were laden with carved meats, curries, bowls of peas and beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, stews, soups, whole corn, bread rolls, little jugs of sauces, and, to top it all off, bottles of wine, water with bubbles in it, and clear bottles of differently coloured drinks that Jemima did not recognise. 

As Mayze sat tearing away at hunks of meat, Jemima just sat, unsure of what to eat first. The smells and sights of the individual dishes were all squabbling for her attention and it made her head spin so much she could only bring herself to nibble on a bread roll, alternating with sips from one of the colourful drinks. The one she picked was bright red and tasted like it was supposed to be strawberries, but there was something off about it. It wasn't bad, just strange. 

As she savoured the bubbles popping on her tongue, she observed Jouse shovelling potato, gravy and beans into his mouth. When he noticed her staring at him, he gave her another shrug, then pointed behind her. 

She turned to see Mayze leaning on the table, arms folded, staring expectantly at her. When Jemima didn't say anything for a few awkward moments, Mayze sighed. 

“Aren't you hungry?” she asked. 

Jemima shook her head no. 

“Alright then.” Mayze returned to eating yet another plateful of meat. 

Jemima looked at her own plate, with only half a bread roll and several crumbs. She stood up and sighed, wishing she never existed in the first place so she wouldn't have to suffer through the Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

One minute, Jemima was lying on her bed in her carriage staring up at the dull ceiling, the next Jouse was standing over her. 

“Mayze wants you to come and watch the other district’s reapings with us,” he said. 

Jemima shook her head. 

“Well, you never know,” Jouse shrugged. “It might be good to get a look at our competition. Come on.” He offered her his hand. She stared back and forth between his hand and face before reluctantly accepting, mostly so he wouldn't keep bugging her about it, but also because there was a very small sliver of her that wanted to see who she’d be up against, out of morbid curiosity. 

They found Mayze sitting on a plush red leather sofa. When she saw her charges, she shifted over and excitedly patted the space beside her. The screen before them was showcasing the stage in District One. The tributes had already been chosen. The boy had curly brown hair with stubble along his jaw and the girl had wavy blonde hair that reached her lower back. It caught the light of the sun, and in her simple but fashionable white blouse and floaty pants, she looked like an angel and her hair glowed like a halo. 

As the programme progressed onto District Two Jemima recalled a sudden memory from when she was a child. She was sitting on the floor in front of a screen, trying to read the people's lips, but the camera always seemed to cut away at the most important parts in their sentences, leaving her without additional context for the situation. It had always been like that actually, even in real life. On that particular occasion, she had picked a bright yellow flower from outside and had repeatedly brushed it against her lips as she watched, feeling comforted by the soft and silky petals. She wanted that flower now. Any flower, really. 

District Two’s girl had straight dark brown hair, ghostly skin and cold, sincere eyes that seemed to peer into one’s soul. She stood on the stage solemnly and a shiver ran up Jemima’s spine. That girl carried herself stiffly, but with calm purpose. And now she stood with one hand on her hip, looking almost bored but no less solemn as they called up the boy. 

District after District flickered past on the screen and Jemima found herself watching with that morbid interest from earlier. Who would be the one to kill her? Would it be the boy from District 6, with extremely defined muscles and arms the size of small tree trunks? He could snap her neck with no effort. Would it be the girl from District 10, who was short and stout but could no doubt overpower her easily? The angel girl from One? Or Jouse…? 

No. No, Jouse wouldn’t do that. Would he? They’d known each other for years but it wasn’t like they were particularly friendly or close. Still, he wouldn’t kill his own district partner. Would he? 

Jemima turned to look at him and felt an uncomfortable gnawing in her stomach. She knew it wasn’t because of the expression on his face - no doubt he was watching their own reaping - nor was it hunger. 

~*~

Jemima didn’t sleep that night and she watched the suffocating crowd surround the train as it pulled into the station through a tired, confused lens. Was it the next morning already? She’d lost all sense of time, the night had passed extremely slowly but now it seemed as though she had blinked and she was here. 

Jouse stood beside her, his eyes constantly darting back and forth. He brought his hand up to Jemima’s shoulder and Jemima felt the gnawing return in full force. 

“Hello, hello! What a wonderful morning it is today!” Mayze chirped in her ear, her bright red lips standing out in the reflection of the window like a stain. Jemima caught the last part of her sentence and shrugged, the action also causing Jouse’s hand to drop away. She turned her hazy attention back out the window, at the tidal wave of people screaming with excitement, flashing cameras and waving erratically. One man jumped out at her. He had forest-green skin and blue hair and was also waving at the two tributes, so his hands were in full view. At the ends of his fingertips were long, thin talon-like fingernails coloured a sparkly midnight-blue. As he moved about, those fingernails caught the light and made the flecks of glitter stand out like stars in the sky. Jemima kept her focus on them as she was led away from the window and out of the train. When she lost sight, she spun her head around continuously, on the lookout for that comforting starry sight. 

Right as she entered through a dark doorway with Mayze eager to keep them moving, she saw them again, and wondered how in the world he could use his hands with those ridiculous, pretty things. 

Before she knew it, she had blinked back to reality in a warm room with soft, luxurious carpet and wide bay windows that promised a stunning view of the city if you pulled back the dark curtains. 

And then she was being encouraged out of her clothes by three plump Capitolites - two women and a man - in oddly simplistic clothing, who then sat her down as they undid the several tiny plaits that nestled among the rest of her long, dark brown hair. Then they brushed it until it hung down her back like the curtains in the window. One continued to work on her hair as another one began cutting her nails and covering them with a clear polish. Once her fingernails were done, she wrapped her arms around her chest as the woman moved on to her toenails. The woman looked up at her and smiled. 

“Don’t worry, love, we’re just preparing you for your designer!” 

Worry? Did she look worried, Jemima wondered. She wasn’t sure if she even felt worried. All of this didn’t feel real. She went from being reaped to fearful in front of a large meal to being pampered like a queen. Reality at that moment seemed so dulled down, yet strangely exciting. She’d probably sleep in a bed big enough to fit her entire family, she’ll be all dressed up for public appearances, maybe she’ll be able to stomach some food this time around, then there’ll be…

Training. Private sessions. And then THE GAMES THEMSELVES. 

That gnawing came back so abruptly that she keeled over. The hands of the woman doing her hair gently eased her shoulders back up and the other woman asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

Jemima was unsure of how to respond. Should she lie and let them carry on happily, or should she tell the truth…?

~*~

The brief meeting with her designer went about as awkwardly as Jemima figured it would, as the woman circled around her naked body as if searching for some fundamental design flaw she should cover up. Jemima was sure she missed a lot of words when she lost sight of her designer’s face, but oh well. She'd find out what their costumes for the parade would be eventually. 

Right now, however, she was sitting down for lunch with Jouse and Mayze at a stately glass dining table in their quarters, though ‘quarters’ was the wrong word to describe their living space; everything was absolutely gorgeous. Her bedroom housed a massive, feather-soft bed and a closet big enough to be its own room. The blue rippled marble shower in the adjoining bathroom was bigger than any she'd seen before and criminally luxurious, with an entire wall dedicated to buttons controlling water temperature, pressure, soaps, scrubs, and air drying. In the Capitol, bigger certainly seemed to be better, miles and miles better. The shock of it all was still working its way through Jemima’s brain, as she slowly ate forkful after small forkful of a creamy cold chicken salad. 

Mayze was eating as ravenously as she had the night before, and as she opened her mouth to speak, beads of saliva and cream sauce rolled down her chin and she wiped it away as discreetly as possible. 

“You have the parade tonight! Oh, it's going to be so exciting! Aren't you excited?” 

Jemima and Jouse gazed across the table at one another, but Mayze carried on. 

“You'll be the stars of the show, I just know it! Oh, and of course you'll meet your mentor, and begin your training with the other tributes…” 

“Who's our mentor this year? Is it going to be Aldan again?” Jouse asked. 

Of course. Their mentor. Since their district didn't have a victor, the Capitol provided a mentor for them. They were the only district who hadn't won the Games yet, and it was honestly starting to get really embarrassing. Like they needed the Capitol to hold their hand, but still ended up losing anyway. Now Jemima was starting to wonder if that said more about the Capitol than their district. 

Mayze smiled. “The one and only!” 

Aldan had been their district’s mentor for the past three years. He came off as pretentious and condescending towards everyone he met - no matter what walk of life they were from - but he was better than the last one, who was stubborn and awful to the point that even the Peacekeepers back home apparently didn’t care for him. He’d more than likely cost them a chance at winning. Jemima would gladly take no mentor over an asshole-y one, even if it meant giving up a chance at winning - not like she had one anyway. 

Mayze glanced up and grinned. “Speak of the devil! Aldan, we were just talking about you!”

Aldan strode over to the table. He was dressed smartly in a blue pressed suit with a gold pin on his lapel. His hair was combed back. It was dark brown, though a few greys were starting to come through. His equally dark eyes flitted across to his tributes and he frowned. Without warning, he suddenly reached out and grabbed Jouse’s arm and inspected it. 

“Such spindly limbs,” he said, frowning. He let go of Jouse and reached across the table and grasped Jemima’s arm. “Both of you.” His frown deepened. “Looks like someone has a lot of work to do.” 

Jemima wasn't sure if he meant them or himself. 

Aldan turned to Mayze and said something. It obviously wasn't particularly flattering, because Mayze stopped eating, looked at him coldly and said “They’ll do just fine. They just need a little bit of help. That's what you're here for.” 

Aldan sniffed and sat down next to Jemima. He began helping himself to the chicken salad and bread rolls. Jemima turned back to her own food, but she didn't feel hungry anymore. Being in the presence of Aldan made her feel a little queasy. She instead pushed the small cubed vegetables around on her plate, drawing lines through the sauce. 

Aldan roughly elbowed her, and she looked up to see him staring at her angrily, saying, “I was talking to you! That rudeness won't get you very many sponsors! Did you parents ever teach you any-” 

Then Jouse said something to him, and Aldan’s expression changed. He stared at Jemima in disbelief, then jutted out his chin, like he was trying to make his mouth more visible to her. 

“Deaf! A deaf tribute! Out of all the eligible girls in your district, they reaped the one who can't hear! What are the odds?” 

What are the odds indeed, Jemima thought. 

Aldan moved his lips like he was tutting at her, like this whole thing was her fault. “Well then, you're going to have to work extra hard, aren't you?” He smiled. 

Jemima turned away again.


	3. Chapter 3

The parade was not what Jemima would call fun. 

Being from the most outlying District of them all and having a thriving coal mining industry meant only two things: silly coal miner outfits and being ignored by the Capitol citizens. 

The miner outfits had already been done to death; Jemima had seen them in the previous Games. The only difference was that they now had pickaxes in their hands. Their designer had no imagination. 

Though to be fair, the idea of coal mining doesn't exactly lend itself to excellent fashion. 

Jemima waved nervously at the crowds as they all clapped and screamed soundlessly. They seemed excited enough, though Jouse would tell her later that it had died down since around District Five or so. Jemima allowed herself to hope a tiny bit that, if by some miracle she made it past the bloodbath, someone in this crowd would sponsor her. As soon as that hope came, it was gone. Her neck would be snapped within fifteen seconds. 

Up ahead, the President’s Mansion loomed over the crowd, lights gleaming from every window. The chariots arranged themselves in a semicircle before it. Jemima glanced around at the others, looking at their costumes. District Eight’s tributes sported patchwork clothing in vibrant colours. District Four was swathed in floaty layers of blue and aquamarine. District Nine wore snowy white gowns with crowns of wheat. 

District One, as per usual, outshone the rest. The boy was dressed in a magnificent suit made of reflective silver material and studded with diamonds - real or fake, Jemima couldn't tell - giving him the appearance of an elegant antique mirror. 

The girl’s dress was much the same. Her long blonde hair was swept upwards in a complex updo, several wispy strands framing her perfect face. A tiara was perched upon her head. She looked like a princess. 

Jemima stared down at her own costume, as bland and reusable as a shopping bag. How pitiful she and Jouse were compared to One. 

How pitiful they were compared to everyone, even the ones from Six dressed up to look like train drivers, in big hats and baggy pants. 

Jemima ignored the President’s Address, preferring instead to lose herself in the beauty of One’s costumes. 

~*~

That night, Jemima dreamed of herself wearing that fancy, reflective dress and tiara on a stage in front of thousands of clapping and cheering people. She may never know what rambunctious applause sounded like, but she knew what it looked like: smacking their hands against each other until they were red and sore, mouths opening and closing at irregular intervals, some people even standing up and doing both as the ultimate way to show their approval. 

Nothing else really happened in that dream, but Jemima cherished it for how it made her feel. 

Appreciated. 

Then she was being shaken awake by Mayze and dragged out to breakfast and the good feeling disappeared as dread took its place. 

Today was the first day of training, the first day of interacting with the other tributes. 

Judging by the look on his face, Jouse was just as nervous as she was. The gnawing crept back into her brain as she watched him eat a slice of toast. She still wasn't sure exactly where he was standing in relation to her. 

Was he going to kill her, or not? 

Killing your own District partner is something of a taboo across all Districts, (except the Capitol, who love the added drama). Though, that hasn't deterred some from doing it anyway. Was Jouse secretly one of those unstoppable killing machines, so desperate for victory that he'd trample anyone in his way? 

Or was he like her, scared shitless and hoping that the end wouldn't be too painful? 

She'd been watching him since they arrived in the Capitol and she was leaning towards the latter. He was tense, even more so today, with a look of worry stamped on his face. The gnawing dissipated a little. From what she’d seen of Jouse before the reaping, he'd seemed like a perfectly nice, ordinary, helpful person. Of course, they were just schoolmates, nothing more. She couldn't claim to truly know what he was like deep down…

Stop it, she told herself. You’re being paranoid. Jouse would never betray his own District like that. He's a good person. Stop worrying. Stop it. 

Jouse tapped her plate to get her attention. 

“Are you okay? You were staring off into space.” 

Jemima nodded. 

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to be allies.” 

Jemima nodded again before she could really think about it. 

Jouse won't do anything to you. There's always safety in numbers. Stop worrying. 

~*~ 

They were dressed in identical outfits and sent down the elevator to the Training Centre. There they stood in a semicircle with the other twenty two identically dressed tributes as the head trainer listed off the rules and regulations: four compulsory exercises, no physical altercations, don't underestimate the importance of the survival stations. As the trainer turned away after dismissing the tributes, Jemima caught sight of the Gamemakers milling about on a balcony, looking out over the tributes. Some were watching intently, most appeared bored. 

One, however, was staring right at her. With a chill, she realised it was the Head Gamemaker. Julian Montrose. He looked down at her past the tip of his pointy nose with a snooty expression. He raised an eyebrow and Jemima immediately turned away, embarrassed for having been caught staring like that, as well as scared that the Head Gamemaker himself had acknowledged her existence. 

Jemima hunched her shoulders and scuttled over to where Jouse was seated at the fire-starting station. She sat down next to him and watched as the trainer explained how to position your hands on the wood and rub them back and forth to create heat. Jouse followed his instructions with determination on his face. It took a little while, but eventually wisps of smoke started to curl from the bottom. Jouse looked relieved as the trainer exclaimed “Now you're getting it!” 

Jouse kept it up and before too long, flames sprang up from the wood, burning brightly. He sat back and gently massaged his hands with a sigh. 

The trainer produced some more wood. “Now you have a go,” he said to Jemima, handing her the wood. “Remember what I told you?” 

Jemima remembered a little, but she took twice as long and needed help from both the trainer and Jouse, who constantly corrected her actions. The fire finally started after twenty minutes of mishaps and holding back tears of frustration. By the end of it, her palms felt as if they were burning as hot as the wood and she was sure the trainer was fed up with her. 

At least she knew how to start a fire now. 

That was more than she could say about weapon usage. The boy from One was slicing practise dummies into mincemeat in a blur of motion. The girl from Two was admiring the large collection of knives and swords, her psychopathic smirk reflected in the polished blades. Her District partner was launching spears into the targets with long-practised ease. 

The angel girl from One, however, was leaning against the wall near the camouflage station in a quiet corner of the room. In her hands were a notebook and pencil. She was making slow, careful motions with the pencil, some small, others large and circular. Evidently not writing, then. What was she doing? Drawing, maybe? Drawing what? And why? 

Whatever it was, she was really into it. Her eyes were half-lidded and her tongue was sticking out of her mouth. She looked very focused. 

Jemima didn't have any more time to dwell on it as Jouse took her by the arm and led her away to another station. 

~*~

Jemima soon learned something else during the first day of training: her spindly figure was not built to withstand any sort of rough contact. Yes, she'd always known that deep down, but attempting the obstacle course really hammered the lesson home. 

She sat down on a nearby bench, tired and sore. She was sure that there'd be bruises all over her body. She knew she'd made a fool of herself and hoped, futilely, that no one noticed her poor performance. 

The Gamemakers certainly would have noticed. It was part of their job description. The Careers certainly didn't. They'd gathered in a group by the sword station, smirking at the weakest of the weak, which, to no one's surprise, included her. They were saying something, but Jemima couldn't make out exactly what. Obviously, it wasn't good. She was sort of glad she couldn't hear it. 

The girl from One wasn't joining them, though. Instead, she rolled her eyes dramatically and strided over to the bench and sat down right next to Jemima. 

Jemima averted her gaze, feeling her heart beginning to pound faster. She was right next to a Career. An honest-to-God Career. What did she want? To rest? Surely there were other benches than this one! Why is she sitting next to me? 

Her entire body tensed up when she felt a tap on her shoulder. 

The girl was looking at her, with no malice anywhere on her perfect face. “Sorry, I was just saying that you shouldn't take the others too seriously.” She jabbed a thumb in the Careers’ direction. “They like to embellish their threats.” 

Jemima blinked. This Career girl...wasn't being mean to her? And she was actively making fun of them? What was this all about? 

She could only nod slowly before shyly turning away again. That was weird. She wasn't used to a trained death machine being nice to her. Maybe this was some kind of joke? If it was, it was either a lame one or an overly complex one. Or maybe she's just overanalyzing this whole thing? Maybe this girl’s just nice to her because… 

A hand shook her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

The girl looked more annoyed now. She said, “I just spoke to you! Are you even listening? Like, what are you, deaf?” 

Jemima nodded her head seriously. She knew it was meant to be a rude comment, but it was true. 

The girl’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She blinked, looking absolutely dumbfounded. From the way her jaw moved, it seemed like she was stammering. 

It was like that for maybe ten seconds before she finally managed to get out, “Ohmigod, I'm so sorry! I didn't know!” 

Then confusion swiftly swept over her face. 

“Wait a minute - if you're deaf, then how can you understand me?” She narrowed her eyes. 

Jemima tapped her lips with her finger. The girl furrowed her brow. 

“You...can read lips?” 

Jemima nodded. 

The girl cocked her head. “Don't you know sign language?” 

She shook her head. 

“Oh.” The girl gazed down at her notebook, then back at Jemima. “Do you at least know how to write?” 

She nodded. 

In response, the girl nodded back, then flipped the notebook open to a clean page near the back. She passed it, as well as the pencil, to Jemima. Jemima looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something. 

She didn't have to wait very long. 

After a brief pause, the girl asked, “What's your name?” 

Jemima wrote it down. 

“Jemima Sinclair.” The girl read aloud. “That's a cute name. I'm Chiffon. Chiffon St Germaine.” 

The angel girl, Chiffon St Germaine of District One. A luxurious name that screams style and opulence. 

“You're from Twelve, right?” 

_Yes,_ Jemima wrote. 

The deaf girl, Jemima Sinclair of District Twelve. An unglamorous name that speaks of simplicity and an attempt on her parents’ part to sound respectful. 

Chiffon clearly though otherwise, though. 

“How old are you?” She kept going with the questions. 

_Fifteen._

“I'm eighteen.” Then, as suddenly as the conversation began, there was a lull. Chiffon looked as if there was something on her mind; something she wanted to say but wasn't sure if she should. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, before closing it, then opening it again, and closing it once more. 

Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke. 

“If you don't mind me asking, were you deaf from birth?” 

Jemima’s mind told her that Chiffon was trying to pick out her weaknesses. The thought made her stomach lurch, but then she told herself that maybe Chiffon was just curious about her. After all, it wasn't everyday you met a deaf person. And she had been really nice to her so far. It's just curiosity, that's all…

But it might not be… 

Jemima wrote yes on the paper. Chiffon eyed the word for a few seconds before asking another question. 

“And you're like, completely deaf, right? You can't hear a thing at all?” 

_Nothing._

Her eyes flashed with pity. The same kind of pitiful stare that most of the locals back home gave her. “It must be sad to not be able to talk to people, or listen to music, or anything.” 

It was sad, and lonely sometimes, but there really wasn't much point in whining about it. It was never going to get fixed, and that was that. Besides, there were much more pressing issues in her life. Like whether there was enough money to make it through the week or whether or not she'd be dead by next week. 

She wrote all that down in the notebook. Chiffon’s eyes skimmed over the words, then again, then a third time. Her mouth dropped into a deep frown. 

“I suppose you are at a big disadvantage,” she said, “but you never know. There have been surprise Victors before.” She gave a weak smile, obviously meant to be reassuring. 

_How many of them were deaf, though?_

Chiffon shrugged. “There's a first time for everything.” 

Jemima took her words into consideration. Yes, there have been Victors in the past who were expected to lose, but since when would she be one of them? Everyone else usually had one thing they were really good at and used to their advantage, whether that was charm, passive survival skills or simply running. 

She, on the other hand, wasn't charming, barely knew anything about survival and wasn't a particularly fast runner. She had no muscle, no weapons training, no street smarts, and lest she remind herself, she was deaf. Danger could be lurking right behind her at any moment and she'd never know until it was too late. Her odds would be, undoubtedly, the lowest of the other tributes. 

So why was Chiffon acting like she had a chance? Was she just trying to be nice? And why was she even doing it in the first place? 

She wrote it down almost without thinking: _Why are you being so nice to me?_

Chiffon studied the question for a moment. She turned her head to watch the remaining Careers harassing the small red-headed boy from Five. She shook her head at their jeering and laughter, leaning against the wall as she faced Jemima. 

“Because being an asshole just doesn't sit well with me.” 

She closed her eyes and her chest heaved in an exasperated sigh. She opened her eyes again and looked straight into Jemima’s. 

“Do you want to be allies?” 

Jemima's heart did a backflip. A Career just asked her for an alliance! Well, a nice Career, but a Career nonetheless! This girl wanted to ally with her, of all people? 

Why? 

Because she liked her? 

Or maybe because she's up to something… 

No, stop it, Jemima instructed her worrying brain. Chiffon’s just being nice. There's nothing more to it. She just wants to help… 

Does she, though? Is that all she wants to do? Have the other Careers somehow put her up to this? 

And what would Jouse think of all this? He's going to be suspicious, no doubt. How would he react? Angrily? Shocked? Happy, even? 

Only one way to find out. 

_I want to think about it,_ Jemima wrote. _I'm allied with my District partner and I want to ask him about it. Besides, I thought you're with the Careers._

Chiffon shrugged. “I'm only pretending. I don't really like the others, to be honest. I hate how they look forward to straight-up _killing_ people. Ick.” She stood up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Okay. Just let me know what your decision is by tomorrow, so I can start formulating a plan. I'd better go now, otherwise the others are gonna get suspicious.” 

_Won't they already be suspicious by now? You've been talking to me for a while. They've probably already noticed._

Chiffon shrugged and gave a mischievous grin. “They've probably been too busy harassing the others to have noticed me, but on the off chance they have, I'll just make something up. I'll just tell them that I was terrorising you in my own special way, to psychologically crush you by pretending to be your friend, or whatever. I don't know, I'll think of something. I'm quite good at lying.” She caught sight of the more-than-slightly horrified look on Jemima’s face, and chuckled. 

“Don't worry, I'm not lying to you! Trust me.” She leaned forward and collected the notebook and pencil from Jemima. “Anyway, I'd better go now. See you later.” And with that, she swiftly moved to join the Careers. 

Jemima was left alone on the bench, feeling confused. Well, she was alone until Jouse came and sat down, looking equally as mystified. 

“What did that girl want with you?” 

Jouse was not going to believe this…


	4. Chapter 4

Jemima borrowed a few sheets of paper and a pencil from another training station and relayed everything to Jouse. 

His response was worse than her initial one must have been. 

“No fucking way in hell,” he said. “It's a trick. It has to be. Why else would she ask to be allies?” 

She seemed genuine, Jemima though, but she figured that that would not be the greatest thing to say. She could almost see his lips moving: just because she seemed genuine doesn't mean she is. 

“She'd stab us as soon as our backs are turned.” Jouse folded his arms. “I don't trust her.” 

So that was that, then. 

Jemima found herself stuck in a bit of a dilemma. She was allied with Jouse - being District Partners and all, but she had just been approached by Chiffon - a Career, but not a typical one. Jouse didn't want to be anywhere near Chiffon, citing her as untrustworthy. 

So what was Jemima to do? Should she stay with Jouse, or leave for Chiffon? 

She mused about it over lunch, robotically eating honey-baked ham while toying with the idea of allying with them both - behind each other's backs. No, wait - that would be mean. 

Throughout the rest of training her thoughts kept drifting to this problem, making it harder to focus on learning about what berries were safe to eat and which ones would stop her heart in seconds. Jouse got annoyed with her lack of concentration, but Jemima couldn't help it. 

What was she to do? 

~*~

Much to her surprise, the solution came to her during dinnertime, courtesy of Aldan. 

Jemima was absent-mindedly poking at her plate of potato salad as she watched everyone’s faces. They were all sitting across from her. Aldan was bored, Mayze was stuffing her face, and Jouse’s expression was stormy. He glanced up and briefly locked eyes with her. Then he placed his fork on the table and turned to face the others. 

“You'll never believe what happened today.” 

Mayze immediately perked up. Aldan idly glanced at him. 

“The girl from One asked us for an alliance.” 

That got Aldan’s attention. “Did she, now? Does that mean she's leaving the Careers for you?” 

“No. She’s still ‘pretending’ to be with them, apparently.” 

“Have you accepted her offer?” 

Jouse scoffed. “Of course we haven't. It's obviously a trick.” 

Aldan scoffed back. “So? It could do a lot of good, having a Career on your side.” 

“How?” Jouse said, folding his arms. 

“Well, so far, everyone thinks that Chiffon is just an ordinary Career, yes? You two thought so at first, didn't you?” 

Jouse pursed his lips. 

“Anyway, people are starting to get tired of seeing the Careers. They're all the same: beautiful, deadly, loyal, thirsty for victory. It's an archetype that is very stale at this point. They adore them, don't get me wrong, but they also want to see some variety. They want something new, fresh, exciting. And that is where you two come in.” Aldan took a sip of his ice water and continued, reclining in his chair. 

“This would be the first alliance between your districts since the First Games. That one wasn't interesting, however, because there were no Careers back then. Today, though, a Career allying with outliers is something that just doesn't happen. Especially when those outliers are from District Twelve. When word of your alliance gets out, people are going to pay attention. They're going to wonder exactly what Chiffon sees in you that makes her want to be your ally. It'll be irresistibly intriguing. All the attention will, more likely than not, get you some good sponsor gifts. And who knows? With gifts like that, one of you could make it into the top ten.” 

Jouse blinked at him. “So, you're saying that we should ally ourselves with Chiffon because it'll be interesting.” 

“That is the gist of it, yes.” 

Jouse leaned back in his chair, arms folded, face scrunched up in thought. Jemima hoped he'd agree to the alliance. Chiffon really did seem nice, plus there was all that stuff Aldan said. It would work more in their favour than if they refused. 

“How do we know she's not going to stab us once our backs are turned?” Jouse spoke, after a long pause. 

“You don't.” Aldan shrugged. “But that's part of the appeal. Everyone will wonder what her next move will be, what your next moves will be. It'll keep them hooked, keep them wanting to see what comes next.” He leaned forward and helped himself to more ham and potato salad. He glanced over at Jouse’s pinched, suspicious face, and visibly sighed. 

“If you're really worried about her turning on you, then just keep your eyes and ears open for any sign of trouble. Maybe you'd be able to strike first, if it comes down to that.” 

It didn't appear to have calmed Jouse's nerves much, but his shoulders sagged as he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine. I'll join.” He nodded at Jemima. “But as soon as I suspect something’s up, I'm gone.” 

Jemima nodded enthusiastically back at him, glad that they were all in this together now, glad that she won't have to choose between them, for the time being at least. 

~*~ 

Jemima wrote up a note and conspicuously passed it to Chiffon the next morning. 

_We're in. But Jouse is still suspicious of you, just so you know._

Chiffon passed one back to her at lunchtime. 

_Can't blame him. But we need to talk strategy. Meet me on the roof once everyone goes to bed tonight._

So that was that. 

Jemima showed Jouse the note. He nodded stiffly and turned his attention back to his food. 

Night could not come quickly enough. Twice Jemima zoned out, thinking about what would be and what could be. Both times Jouse brought her out of it by angrily snapping his fingers in front of her face. Then Jemima would get flustered at having lost track of what she was doing. 

She also ended up knocking over an entire rack of spears, after tripping over her own feet and stumbling into it. As Jouse helped her back up, she caught sight of the entire Career lack laughing at her, their eyes filled with mirth… 

Except Chiffon. She just flashed her a sympathetic look and sneakily rolled her eyes behind the Careers’ backs. 

Finally, training was done for the day, meaning that there would only be a few more hours until they could meet up with Chiffon. 

Jemima sat on the shiny leather sofa and flicked through the channels on the television until one caught her eye. It was a cooking show, where the hosts, a man and woman who both sported the same lavender curls, were creating an array of cakes that seemed more like works of art. 

One cake was covered in gold fondant and topped with gold dust and toffee shards that you could see your own reflection in. Another cake was painstakingly decorated to be a rose garden, with delicate sugar roses and frosting that resembled actual grass. Another one, inspired by the ocean, was split into three layers, each one a rich marbled mixture of green and blue, and finished off with an airy cream topping tinted aquamarine. 

Each cake was its own world, its own art piece, inspired by an aspect, or many aspects, of life. Jemima imagined herself, scaled down to size, exploring those landscapes of sugar, passion and dedication. 

The two hosts showed her each and every single one of their worldly masterpieces, each one more fantastical and dream-like than the last. 

Jemima sat in front of the television for hours, her eyes glued to the screen. She was unresponsive to anything else around her, to the point that Jouse had to physically drag her to the dining table once the evening meal had been served. 

She also noticed that the television now had subtitles, when it certainly didn't yesterday. 

~*~ 

As the minutes ticked by, Jemima found herself becoming more and more excited. She was in an alliance with not only her district partner, but one of the strongest people here. And she was nice. Very nice. 

She couldn't wait to tell her about the gorgeous cakes she saw. _Chiffon would like them,_ she thought. 

She wondered if she'd already seen them. 

Mayze chatted about how wonderful it was to see her take such an interest in Capitol entertainment. Aldan rolled his eyes. Jouse didn't look up from his plate once. 

Then, finally, it was time for bed. 

Mayze bid everyone goodnight before retreating to her own room. 

Aldan nodded politely before leaving. 

Jouse looked at her and gave one single nod, then shut the door to his room behind him. 

Jemima entered her own room and sat down on her bed, fidgeting nervously. It was almost time, she'd just need to wait another hour, maybe two, just until she was sure that no one else was awake aside from her, Jouse and Chiffon. The last thing they needed was a surprise visit from another tribute - or worse yet, another Career. 

To give herself something to do, Jemima explored the contents of the sizable walk-in closet. She tried on some of the articles of clothing that caught her eyes, twirling in front of the mirrors so that she could watch the skirts and dresses billow about her like a cloud. 

Right after she finished putting on a bright yellow dress with several thin underskirts, she suddenly caught sight of Jouse in the mirror. She wheeled around to find him sticking his face into her room. He glanced at her dress before speaking. 

“Come on, let's go.” 

Jemima followed him out to the elevator. They stood inside and Jouse pressed the button that would take them to the roof. As the elevator ascended, Jemima’s heartbeat sped up. 

Her alliance would finally meet up for the first time. She hoped that it wouldn't go terribly.


End file.
